


Painting Flowers

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Promptio Week 2019 (Complete) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 1 of Promptio Week, M/M, Soulmates/Soulmark AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Prompto Argentum, and the navigation of his soul mark, his friends, and himself over a period of thirty years.





	Painting Flowers

For as long as Prompto can recall, he's had flowers painted over his body. They're gorgeous flowers, dark crimson at center and paling as they spread outward until they're almost the color of sunrise. The topmost flower rests at the top of his collarbone, just beneath the hollow of his throat; the bottom expanding all the way down to his hips. He learns the name of the flower in question when he turns 9 -  _ Gladiolus.  _ Or, in the case of his multiple, twinning spikes that seem to grow to consume more of his body with every passing year, Gladioli.

And they do multiply. With every year he gains, with every inch he grows, there's a new stem somewhere on his body, painted like a tattoo. His foster parents order him to cover it up, almost fearfully, especially when rumor hits that the Shield's eldest son is named for that very flower. Prompto thinks it's ridiculous, because c'mon - Gladiolus isn't a rare name. 

Still, he covers it up, if only so his parents don't nag him to death first chance they get. And one day during a commute, he gets to see the kid in question his parents are so afraid of, and the thought of  _ that  _ being his other half? Hot, but also impossible. 

Prompto's just some  random fat kid on the street, after all. Who would ever want him as a soulmate?

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

He forgets the flowers, when he starts working on getting a better body, a better  _ image  _ for Noctis. Part of him can't really believe he's actually thinking of doing this - he doubts the Prince even  _ remembers  _ him. But there's some desperate, clinging hope in the pits of him that whisper  _ do it, do it,  _ and he can't help but chase it. 

So he runs. He runs and he eats healthy, and he slims down, and when high school rolls around, he puts on a carefree attitude he doesn't feel at the core of himself, and goes up to Noctis and bravely (stupidly, he will argue, in a letter to Luna) introduces himself.

And Noctis accepts him. Accepts his presence, and after a time, even seems to  _ demand  _ it. And Prompto finally feels like he's found his North, his guiding star, and it only gets worse over time. Suddenly he's hearing about a road trip to find ancestral weapons, and all he can think of is  _ I don't want to be left behind. _

So he joins the Crownsguard for Noctis, and he pushes himself to his limits again, this time beneath the unflinching, unmerciful gaze of the Crownsguard instructors, including the son of the King's Shield, Gladiolus Amicitia.

Who, if Prompto is being 100% honest and upfront?

Bit of a dick.

Also insanely hot.

But still a dick.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

It isn't until nearly a year later, when they're on the road for their third ghostly weapon of Noctis' distant forefathers that the issue of the flowers comes up again.

And during that time, Prompto learns a lot, both about himself, and about the men he's to be working with to keep Noctis safe. He learns that Noctis shares a soul mark with Ignis Scientia, a boy who was raised alongside Noctis, now a man who functions as the damned everyman for their quest, whose sharp mind and keen knife skills have saved their ass more than a few times, and whose puns never fail to make someone smile. 

Ignis, if Prompto is being honest, is a fucking maniac, but also a literal godsend, and Prompto is pretty sure he might also be the son of a God. He might or might not have drunkenly blurted that last part out a few nights ago, and Ignis might or might not have laughed so hard he snorted Ebony up his nose. 

Prompto might have caught a picture of it, and Noctis might currently have said picture. Who knows.

Ignis adores Noctis. Noctis thinks the man swings between doing things out of Royal Obligation, and because he wants Noctis to shut up for five seconds, but he couldn't be further from the truth. Prompto has seen the way Ignis looks at Noctis when Noctis isn't looking, and  _ nobody  _ looks at someone like Ignis does Noctis unless there's genuine feelings involved. 

So yeah. Noctis is in his own head, pining about a romance that is perfectly within his reach if he'd just take five seconds to notice, and Ignis is calmly, patiently waiting for his Prince to get his shit together and  _ notice him.  _

Gladio thinks it's hilarious. He's also eating it up like one of his romance novels, complete with popcorn whenever they get the chance. Prompto pretends he's not interested, but he's keeping an eye and ear open for opportunities to shoo the two off together, which Ignis always looks grateful for, and Prompto is happy to wingman for a fellow friend. He also does it because there's nothing funnier than Noctis coming back to plant his face in Prompto's knee and bemoan how hot Ignis looked, and how fucking  _ in love with this man  _ Noctis is. 

They'll get there one day, Prompto knows. And there will be fireworks, and grand romances, or maybe Ignis finally losing his mind and just throwing Noctis down on the nearest surface. Because yeah, Ignis is patient, but Prompto has also caught the absolutely  _ filthy  _ looks he rakes Noctis with whenever Noctis takes off his shirt, and  _ yeah.  _ Those? Those aren't platonic. 

But besides the thing with His Highness, it's a surprise to learn that Ignis genuinely enjoys cooking for other people, and it isn't merely a chore like some people would see it. Which leads to Prompto helping set the table, and eventually, poking Ignis with questions about why or how he cooks things the way he does. Ignis seems to enjoy his questions, and can easily multitask.

Gladiolus, on the other hand, seems to be Ignis' exact opposite in that area. And to be honest, Prompto still isn't entirely sold on the guy. He's gruff, snarly at times, blunt as the back end of a fucking Dualhorn (particularly where it concerns Prompto), and doesn't like to be sassed or ribbed. At least not by Prompto, who he seems to view less as a genuine member of the team, and more as either the "civilian fourth wheel" or "the bodyshield" for Noctis. 

Which. Prompto's not gonna lie. Ouch.

Still, Noctis always flares up whenever Gladiolus starts in, which is nice, especially given that the only thread really holding Prompto together is Noctis. And Noctis wants him here, wants him to stay. Believes in him, trusts him with his back. And Prompto wouldn't fucking give that up for the world. Not even for assholes like Gladiolus, who think they know more than they do.

So instead of sulking, Prompto pushes back in his own way. He gets up at dawn to run around, to clean his weapons and help Ignis make breakfast. He helps pick up groceries and hunts, and pours with Noctis over resources and what they can do. He makes himself useful, though maybe not invaluable. 

And when Gladio starts in during battles, or afterward, or about how Prompto's a liability, or any of that bullshit, Prompto ignores him. Because yeah, he's got his insecurities, and Gladio seems able to hone in on every single one, but this is for  _ Noctis.  _ And Prompto has seen what kinda shit he's got to balance on his shoulders, the kind of weight the world expects him to hold one day, and he's not going to back down from helping his best friend however he can. Fuck that noise.

And fuck Gladiolus too, the dick.

But of course, things can't go on like they do forever. There has to be a give, somewhere, because he's too stubborn to quit and Gladiolus is of the mind that his opinion concerning Prompto is the right one. 

It's one of the easiest hunts they've had in a while that sets them off, ironically. Nobody gets hurt, no Potions get used, but once the fight is over, Gladio still rounds on him with a snarl. "The fuck was that?"

And Prompto... rather than feeling an urge to capitulate and apologize for whatever his imagined offense was, gets his hackles up. "What was what?"

"Gladiolus," Ignis starts, but Gladio sets his sword in the dirt and strides over to where Prompto is standing. Noctis edges a little closer to Prompto, but otherwise doesn't make a sound, watching his Shield and his best friend settle their issue. 

"Do you seriously think you can keep riding on his fuckin' coattails forever, and we ain't gonna get tired of it? You think just because Noctis likes you you can get away with not putting your all into a fight? Especially when you're half the fucking reason these fights get started in the first place?"

"Excuse you?" Prompto demands, and his temper burns. He steps forward, and meets Gladiolus' eyes. There's a clenching of anxiety in his stomach, but he ignores it. He's tired of tip-toeing around like he's not welcome. "What world are you living in, exactly? I'm Crownsguard, same as you--"

Gladio's mocking, derisive laughter echoes through the suddenly too quiet area. "You? The same as me? You're nowhere  _ near  _ the same as me, Blondie. Hell, you're not near any of us!" He gestures to Noctis and Ignis, whose lips have gone white with how tight he's pressed them together. He looks like he wants to say something, but he understands too easily that this has to be dealt with by Prompto and Prompto alone, or Gladio won't truly ever stop.

"You're right," Prompto snarls back, and puts the safety on his gun. "I'm better than  _ you.  _ Because unlike you, you great fucking brute, I don't walk around making assumptions about people and their abilities. Especially not when they've already proven themselves to the people that matter."

Gladio kind of looks like he wants to hit him. Prompto wants him to - he  _ wants  _ to start something, he thinks. "The fuck did you--"

"The Marshal himself cleared me," Prompto snaps. "I was trained beneath him, I worked one-on-one with Noctis to balance myself against his techniques and abilities. The King himself and  _ your dad  _ fucking cleared me. What more do you fucking need, you absolute jackass? I get it, you've got a fucking hard-on hatred for Niffs, you don't like me. What the fuck ever. I'm not here for  _ you.  _ I'm here--"

He whirls around and jabs a finger at Noctis. "Because he needs me to be. And if you can't accept that, that's  _ your  _ fucking problem, not mine!"

Gladio's face goes ugly. Prompto turns his back, intending to leave it at that, but out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement.

He follows Cor's orders. He doesn't flinch.

A second later, the dead silence in the area is so much more imposing. Gladio's frozen up, hand still reaching out, but no longer fixing to grab. Not with the barrel of Prompto's gun pressed right up against his forehead, a deadly kiss. Noctis makes a little sound in the back of his throat - an imploring plea  _ don't hurt my Shield. _

Prompto makes sure to make direct eye contact with Gladio. "If Noctis didn't trust you," he says evenly. "I would blow your brains out right here and now. You touch me again without my permission, and I  _ will  _ blow your brains out, Shield or no. It's certainly not like you're using them."

"You'd leave your King defenseless?" Gladio grits out. 

"He's not defenseless. Ignis is worth two of you any day of the week. And unlike  _ you _ , he doesn't have an attitude problem." He flicks the barrel open, and turns it just enough so Gladio can see the inside chamber. "And for your information, the reason I paused during the fight was to reload my gun, you jackass. I emptied this barrel  _ twice,  _ while you spent your time moseying around like you lost your head. But sure,  _ I'm _ the useless one here."

He flicks the chamber shut again, and walks off towards the car without a backwards glance.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

Whether it's the confrontation and Prompto's refusal to put up with anymore of Gladiolus' bullshit that does it, or the asschewing that undoubtedly follows (because the look on Ignis' face there at the end made it very clear he was about as fed up with the whole issue as Prompto was), in the following days, Gladio backs off.

He still makes dissatisfied noises now and again, snipes at Prompto, throws him under the bus when he fucks up. But he doesn't hound him about it. Doesn't take every shot offered. Keeps his disdain to looks and the odd expression whenever nobody's looking. Prompto doesn't give a fuck. He's tired of trying to impress a man determined to hate him, no matter what he does. Ignis likes him. Noctis likes him. And he's passed every test the Crownsguard could throw at him, and come out with a hefty recommendation from Cor Leonis himself. Cor Leonis, who also gave him his first gun as a  _ graduation gift  _ from mentor to student, because he was that impressed with Prompto's potential.

The Marshal doesn't give gifts out to just anyone - and he doesn't hand-train just anyone either. Ignis, Noctis and even Cor himself made that incredibly clear. Cor doesn't play favorites, but he sure as hell doesn't let genuine talent slip by him either. 

So it's Gladiolus' problem to solve. Prompto makes no threats towards him, doesn't return the looks or snarls and sneers. Doesn't respond to the glib little comments. 

And maybe that's the thing that decides it. Or the starting point, at least.

Prompto knows for  _ sure  _ the thing that seals Gladio's grudging acceptance of him is the damned motherfucking Zu coming out of the skies like a bat out of hell. It should have been an easy hunt - they were certainly prepared enough. And yet when it came down to it, maybe that was the problem. They were so prepared for things to go smoothly, they didn't think the Zu would have any tricks to put them in a bind. 

Fortunately, one of the lessons Cor pounded into his head was how to fly on the wing when shit went wrong.

With Ignis providing support, Prompto turns himself into a one-man war machine while Gladio keeps Noctis safe beneath one of the rocky overhangs. The bird loses one of its wings within the first five minutes; riddled with bullets, and one good grenade, the soft tissue of the shoulder muscle gives way, and with a scream, the bird comes down from the air.

From that point, everyone beats the shit out of it. 

Even with one wing down, that beast is certainly no joke. In the end, their stock of elemental flasks is wiped out, every last ether and elixir gone, Noctis is in stasis, and Prompto himself is sweaty, covered in dirt, and dizzied enough by the heat to where when he goes to take that first step, the world tilts sideways, and he finds himself flat on the ground.

"Prom!" Noctis yells, voice slurred, and tries to make his way to him, only for his own legs to fail him. Ignis manages to grab him before he hits dirt, but Prompto can't do much more than wheeze from where he's at. It always manages to surprise him, when this shit happens. 

He resigns himself to laying in the dirt until some of his strength comes back, at least until Gladiolus kneels beside him, and wordlessly offers him his back, stretching his arms back in the motion for a piggyback. 

Prompto's not gonna look a gift chocobo in the mouth. His arms still work, for all that he's tired and achy, and Gladio easily manages to boost him up and keep a grip on him once he's there. It's... kind of nice, actually, and Prompto can almost imagine a world where, if he and Gladio were friends, this might be kind of fun. 

As it is, Gladio gets him back to the haven in one piece, and sets him down carefully while Ignis goes to fetch their back-up stock of potions. He must conk out for a bit, because when he comes to, the sky is a different color, and the sun has almost disappeared. He's also been bandaged up, while Noctis only has a few minor scratches to show for the scuffle. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, when Prompto shamelessly comes around the fire with a chair to press them close together, temples touching as they lean back and reassure each other with presence and touch. "I told Iggy to give you some, but he was determined. Gladio found some wild herbs though, made some sort of stinky paste that's supposed to help wounds heal quicker, and prevent infection."

Gladio is dead asleep in the tent, Ignis beside him. The two older fighters are clearly worn out, and who could blame them, after the day they've all had. 

"He patched me up?"

"Yeah. You weren't looking too hot. I think..."

"What?"

"I think you scared him. Back there, putting yourself out there like that. I think he thought you'd cower down with me, or try to avoid fighting. You got a little reckless there though."

A sharp nudge. "Yeah. I didn't want anyone else getting pecked to death."

Noctis leans on him heavily, and the warmth nearly lures Prompto to sleep. "Seriously though man," Noctis mumbles. "Don't do shit like that. Don't go where I can't follow."

The words bring a lump to Prompto's throat. “Sure thing, boss.”

He finds his eyes straying to the tent, to the long legs he can see peeking out from the tent flap. 

"Gladio got a favorite meal?"

"Cup noodles dude. Or meat on a stick."

"Meat on a stick for breakfast it is."

"Careful," Noctis teases. "Iggy will get jealous."

If anything, Ignis seems grateful the next morning, when he gets up and finds the skewers already waiting, piping hot with a cup of his favorite Ebony. He gives Prompto an affectionate shoulder pat, and Prompto just smiles back. Gladio meets his gaze, nods to him, and gets a nod back.

Progress. Slow, small, but definitely progress.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

It's later, two months down the road, when Prompto discovers his flowers are changing color.

Not all of them - some are still the dark crimson-to-pale pink he remembers. But others have begun to take on an almost purplish hue, and some more of a golden tone. It's certainly eye-catching, and pretty, Prompto thinks as he turns around. He's heard that changing colors on a soul mark reflect a change in how the person sees you--

Which is where Prompto's brain promptly shuts down, because  _ Gladiolus flowers.  _ And he's traveling with a dude named Gladiolus, and when things finally get better, his flowers change color?

So yeah, a minor panic attack, to learn he's bonded to the future King's Shield, of all people. And by 'minor', it almost makes him throw up in terror. 

He can already imagine Gladio learning about this, and yeah. Not good. Def not gonna happen anytime soon, that's for sure. 

He throws his shirt back on, and returns. 

He forgets about the flowers until almost four months later.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

"You always sign your name like that?"

"Uh?"

Prompto almost jumps out of his skin when Gladio appears by his side, leaning over his shoulder to read the - if Prompto is being generous - chicken scratch of a signature that is Prompto's shorthand name -  _ Prom.  _ They've agreed to go by nicknames while they're on the road, if only to prevent suspicion. Prom, Noct, Iggy, Dio. A team of four men who nobody knows the real identities of, because they've swapped all their royal wear for commoner's clothing, and had the Regalia painted something that doesn't scream  _ Lucian Royalty  _ to anyone with working eyes.

So far it seems to have worked. 

"Uh, yeah, pretty much. I know it's not really appealing next to your guys' premier sigs, but." He shrugs, and hands  the pen to Gladio to sign. Gladio takes it, but he stares at Prompto's signature a moment longer even as he signs his own shorthand in. 

What it lands them is a two bed, one bathroom place for the next three nights, and real, actual beds.

Which is where the next problem comes in. 

Because for the past six months, it's been quiet between Prompto and Gladio. Prompto's slept with Ignis, and Gladio's slept with Noctis. They've stayed in their own lanes, and banter between them has been carefully polite, almost friendly. The fight from the first month seems like ages ago. Still, they've been careful.

Tonight however, Noctis collapses onto the rightmost bed, and drags Ignis down with him, perhaps in a moment of boldness, or maybe they've confessed behind closed doors while Prompto and Gladio were out looking for groceries and to gather intel. But Ignis is out like a light a second after Noctis is, which leaves Gladio and Prompto with one bed, and two of them.

Gladio tries first. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Absolutely not," Prompto hisses. "We didn't spend 500 gil for you to sleep on the  _ floor,  _ dude."

"You're uncomfortable--"

"I'll get over it. Now get on the bed, dumbass."

Gladio cocks an eyebrow, and grins, perhaps a little weakly. "You talk to all the guys like that, or just me?"

"You're a special one, Gladio, I'll give you that."

It does the trick; Gladio elbows him in the kidney, and Prompto kicks him in response, and the ice breaks. They spend a moment snickering into pillows like a couple of idiots before Gladio switches the light off, and the tension bleeds away in favor of sleep instead.

It's... not bad, sleeping next to a dude who puts out heat like a furnace. Especially given the city is edging its way into autumn, and the temperature's dropping. And it turns out Gladio sleeps like a fucking rock - one big arm draped over Prompto's hip, body up against Prompto's back like a literal wall. It's the safest he's ever felt, if he's being honest.

In the morning, they're the last to wake, in a rare turn of events. Breakfast is already on, and Ignis and Noctis are talking quietly over the stove, Noctis a step and a half closer to Ignis than he was in the beginning. Ignis still looks at him like he's the greatest thing ever, but Noctis is looking at him like that too now, openly.

So yeah, they've probably sorted  _ their  _ little issue out. It just begs the question of  _ when _ and how the fuck Prompto missed it. 

Then Noctis glances over and sees Prompto's awake, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively while nodding towards Gladio with his chin. 

Prompto rolls his eyes and flips him off as he struggles out from beneath Gladio's arm, and Noctis' answering laughter is enough to wake the  big guy up. 

His flowers change color again that night; the reds are still there, but the rest of the colors have solidified. Deep gold to a sunny yellow, royal blue to a pale twilight. 

The colors of passion, loyalty, energy, enthusiasm, and love. Colors that represent one hell of a burden, and a coming conversation that can't be put off. He'd thought it odd earlier that Gladio asked about his signature, especially after seeing him sign it so many times - but it makes him wonder if maybe Gladio never actually  _ saw  _ it until now, when their relationship has begun to progress towards something less frigid.

Soulmarks come in different forms. No two always match up. There's no guarantee his mark on Gladio is a picture - it could be a scribble.

Or his name.

The thought makes his stomach twist, and starts to wonder just how deep this rabbit hole goes. How many more arms they'll collect between the lines between them shift again, and they become something new to each other. 

_ it might not happen,  _ Prompto thinks, but he knows. Deep in his gut, he knows he's not just making this shit up. There's too many lines being drawn for it to all be coincidence.

And maybe Noctis has figured it out too. Because he eyes them the next time they camp like he's figuring out a secret, and Ignis glances at them every so often, and then abruptly decides he and Noctis need to take a walk.

Leaving him and Gladio alone on the haven, to pass the time however they choose. 

Prompto forces himself to clean his gun slower than normal, and keeps his back turned to Gladio to avoid meeting the gaze boring into him, rather than the book he's holding like an excuse, and hasn't turned a page on yet.

He tells himself he’ll deal with this as soon as they’re done with the search for the Royal Arms. 

He tries to pretend part of him isn’t right there with Noctis, being disappointed when the other half of their team returns and nothing has happened between him and Gladio.

One day, he tells himself. One day.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

_ One day  _ turns out to come fairly quickly. They’re on their fifty-fourth arm, in the waterfall cave - which if Prompto is honest, is more ice and  _ freezing fucking temps that have no right to exist  _ \- when Prompto loses his footing during a fight, and  _ plummets.  _ He hears a roar of voices above him as someone sees him go down, but he himself doesn’t even get a chance to open his mouth before he’s slamming into the ground, and hears something  _ crack  _ in his arm, and pain shoots through him. His gun returns to the Armiger as his concentration shatters, and vaguely he's aware of Ignis yelling his name in panicked tones.

He hears the click of nails on stone though, and the sound of whatever the others were just fighting rapidly bearing down on him.

He also hears cursing from his friends, and above all else, Gladio’s roar. “ _ Prompto, get down!” _

He gets down. He hears a victorious screech from the daemons, feels the rush of air, and then--

Gladio is  _ there,  _ above him like some kind of avenging angel, bowing his head as he  _ sweeps  _ the sword he carries outwards, and a literal  _ ripple  _ of power follows the movement. The daemons go flying, crashing into walls and plummeting over ravines that end who knows when. 

“Gladio, Prompto, are you alright?” Ignis yells as he slides down the side of the cliff far more carefully than Prompto did, Noctis on his heels, eyes wide and a Potion already clenched in his hand.

Prompto would answer, really he would, except Gladio comes to kneel next to him, and puts his hand on Prompto’s shoulder and  _ holy mother of the Astrals  _ he’s pretty sure he just saw Hell.

He must make some kind of noise equivalent, because Gladio jerks back his hand like he’s been seared by the Infernian himself and goes, “Okay, okay, I won’t touch you. I’m sorry.” In very low, calming tones like he’s got a spooked animal under him. Prompto’s not gonna lie - he kind of loves that, just a little. Especially right now, when he feels like shit.

He lays his head down against cold stone and focuses his breathing as Ignis comes to kneel beside him, and Noctis casts a bright fire spell, holding it above them like a light as Ignis begins to carefully move clothing out of his way. Prompto doesn’t see what they do, but he hears the collective hiss everyone makes, and the low, frantic murmuring of Noctis to Ignis. 

“Prompto, still with us?” Ignis asks, gently. 

“Nngm,” is the best answer Prompto can give. He’s trying to stay calm, and he can’t do both at once. 

Ignis probably understands that, because Ignis is the best human being Prompto has ever met. “Gladio is going to have to pick you up so we can get out of here. There’s an exit not far - but we’ll have to turn you on your other side.”

Which means pain. “Kay,” he gets out, and cracks open an eye to look at Gladio, who kind of has the expression of a man fixing to battle an army on his face. “Sorry in advance.”

“Not your fault,” Gladio says, voice still low, “These things happen.”

He shuts his eyes again, and there’s shuffling around him. One of Gladio’s hands hovers over his side, the other slides beneath him. The other side of him twinges, but it isn’t nearly as bad. He can handle a twinge. He just hopes he doesn’t throw up all over Gladio.

“One,” Ignis says, and Gladio  _ lifts,  _ and Prompto--

Prompto blacks out.

 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

When he comes to again, everything is soft and warm, and nothing hurts. They’re back in the hotel room, the lights are dimmed, and if the lack of sound is anything to go by, everyone is either asleep, or off doing their own thing. He gingerly goes to move, and his arm doesn’t so much as twinge. It is cold, however, from sitting on top of the blankets so long, as is the rest of his bare chest, so Prompto burrows down beneath the soft blankets.

 

Only to jerk back up as reality hits him.  _ Bare chest? _

 

He slaps a hand over his body and yep, yep that’s his soulmark on full display for anyone to see. Six, did Ignis-- did  _ Gladio-- _

 

“Breathe, Prompto,” Ignis’ voice cuts through his panic as sure as one of his knives. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed in a chair, a needle between his fingers as he deftly mends what looks like Prompto’s shirt. “I waited until Gladiolus left before removing it. I suspected you would not be pleased if I outed you before you were ready to talk about it.”

 

Prompto’s mouth goes dry. He stares at Ignis, a hundred different thoughts crossing his head at once - and eventually he settles on “you knew?”

 

“I suspected,” Ignis answers, pausing to look at him. “Although I must say, I did not foresee Gladiolus to be so utterly taken by you. He’s left quite a mark.”

 

Prompto feels his cheeks rush hot. “I don’t want to hear that coming from the guy who looked like he wanted to kiss Noctis one minute and fuck him stupid the next.”

 

Ignis snorts. “I assure you, I lost the interest for subtlety around our first week together, when I realized how Noctis saw me.”

 

“Utterly in love with you, but convinced you were only doing things out of obligation?”

 

“Very much so.”

 

“But you two have solved that now, right?”

 

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” Ignis remarks lightly. “But yes. We’ve spoken our peace, and we now see eye to eye more than we did. You and Gladio are also progressing rather nicely, given a short time ago he was ready to throw you off the nearest cliff.”

 

“He won’t want me,” Prompto says, and that brings Ignis’ full attention to him. “I’m… he’s probably just being nice because he wants to be. Because he doesn’t want to get yelled at again.”

 

“No,” Ignis says, before Prompto can dig deeper, and make more excuses. “He is being kind because before, he did not know you. He made assumptions. But over the time we’ve been out here, you’ve proven yourself. You’ve shown him that you are brave and thoughtful, and loyal, and you are willing to go to quite a lot of trouble to keep us safe. He has seen that, and realized how thoughtless his actions were before.  _ That  _ is why he is kind.”

 

“He’s making up for lost time?”

 

“That, and by way of apology. Men in the Amicitia clan speak with actions better than they do words. Gladio wishes to prove his apology, prove he sees you now, not merely the image he conjured up in your place.”

 

That’s… kind of flattering. Sweet, almost. 

 

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Prompto murmurs, leaning back. He finds himself tracing fingers over the head of the tallest flower, a habit he gained back when he’d been fat, and never left behind. “We’ve all made mistakes. We’ve come a long way since then though.”

 

Ignis makes an agreeing sound. And then crushes Prompto’s hope.

 

“The name ‘Prompto’ has been plastered across his right hip for as long as I can remember. Recently however, it has begun to grow and lengthen. It resembles a view of the dawn now. Quite elaborate.”

 

“...you’re lying.”

 

“I am not.” And Ignis brings out his phone, and flips an app open, and turns the phone around. “See for yourself.”

 

Prompto doesn’t take the phone, but he doesn’t have to. Not when he can see it from here - and it’s just like the scratch in the hotel sign-in sheet, except so much worse. The ‘o’s look like twin suns, one sunrise and one sunset. The ‘t’ is a pine tree, massive, unrelenting. His other letters are curved line vines, or lines in the hills, dips and climbing peaks of mountains. It’s not a picture of any particular place they’ve been, but it’s a picture that could easily belong to a photographer. 

 

He closes his eyes and leans back. “Does he know.”

 

“He knows he has your name. He likes to think you have his. You should talk to him.” Ignis seems to understand the weight he’s just dropped on Prompto, offering him a sympathetic look as Prompto lays back in bed, wrapped tight in the covers, and tries not to think about what this all means when he finally finds the courage to talk to Gladio.

 

When he hears footsteps out in the hallway, approaching, he feigns sleep. He knows those footsteps, knows Noctis and Gladio are back from wherever they’ve been. He makes sure every inch of his mark is covered, and then buries his face under the pillows and tries to relax. Ignis allows him this, and the voices that come through the door quiet down almost immediately.

 

“Still out cold?” Gladio asks, and Prompto’s heart hits his ribs hard as he realizes the older warrior sounds  _ concerned.  _

 

“He woke for a brief time. Enough to reassure me that he was feeling better. But I’m afraid even after all the rest he’s had, his body still needs a little more time.”

 

“Hey, good thing we got the room for four more nights,” Noctis jokes lightly, and Prompto feels him lean over, and a cool hand touches the base of his neck. “Damn, he’s burning up. You sure he’s okay?”

 

“He spoke well enough, and seemed fine. It could very well be all those blankets he’s wrapped in.”

 

“Truth,” Gladio agrees. “Can’t believe he’s cold to need all of ‘em.”

 

“Perhaps it’s an imagined cold,” Ignis says, and Prompto can  _ hear  _ the double words being laid out. “And once he conquers the hurdle of realizing he is in no danger any longer, he will emerge.”

 

“In short, bad brain connection, try again when wifi is available,” Noctis says. It gets a snort from both of his retainers, and almost Prompto, but yeah. That does sum it up fairly nice. 

 

And hasn’t that always been one of his and Noctis’ bigger issues? They think too much - overthink a lot, don’t think where they  _ should,  _ and they’re driven by irrationality, by fears that don’t actually measure up in reality. 

 

Prompto fears Gladiolus’ reaction - thinks he won’t want to be soulmates with someone he once denounced. But if Ignis’ words, that picture, and even Gladio’s own reaction upon seeing him are any indication… he doesn’t hate him. And he won’t hate Prompto for sharing a soul mark with him. 

 

They might not have some kind of grand romance like all the good stories tell of, but he doesn’t think Gladio will chase him off either. Won’t sneer and shove him away and demand he go back to Insomnia, lest he be a distraction or a burden to the team. 

 

_ Tomorrow,  _ he tells himself. Tomorrow he’ll try talking to Gladio about it. Maybe just… get a feel for how  _ he  _ feels about soul marks, about being bound to someone outside his control. They don’t have to be romantically attached. He can always tell Gladio the truth, and request they remain as just good friends, right? That’s a thing two consenting adults can do, right?

 

Tomorrow, he thinks, and listens to the voices of his teammates as he drops back off again. For sure.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


“Hey, Gladio?”

 

‘Tomorrow’ becomes ‘a week’, and then ‘a week’ becomes ‘two weeks’ before Ignis finally  _ looks  _ at him pointedly enough that Prompto finds himself slinking over to the edge of the haven, where Gladio’s eating dinner and reading by whatever light is left from the sun. They’ve camped early today, on account of Noctis wanting to get up early tomorrow for a rare fish that only comes out at dawn. A perfect opportunity, except Prompto doesn’t feel remotely ready for this conversation.

 

Gladio gives a soft little noise to acknowledge he’s heard Prompto’s words and is listening, and the lack of his gaze makes it a little easier to speak. 

 

“Do you… did your family… I mean...what are your thoughts on soul marks?”

 

Prompto very carefully  _ does not  _ look at Gladio as he asks the question, because if he looks he might lose his nerve and backpedal so hard he’s liable to leave a Prompto-sized hole in the tent.

 

Gladio doesn’t turn his head, or even move from where he’s leaning on one hand as he reads, but Prompto can feel eyes on the side of his face all the same. “Depends which generation of Amicitia you’re talking with. My grandmother’s generation had arranged marriages wrapped around soul marks. Dad’s generation kind of followed suit, but with the thought that if you found someone you loved before you found your soul mate, it was fine to marry for love over a legend that might not even come true.”

 

“And you?”

 

Behind him, the camp’s gone dead silent. The world seems to have vanished outside of him and Gladio. Gladio bookmarks his spot, and turns to him. The look in his eyes makes Prompto’s stomach dip.

 

“Depends who’s askin.”

And something in the back of his head… rejects everything he was going to do. The words vanish like they were never there, and something cold settles into Prompto’s body instead. Something distant. There’s just…

 

_ No.  _

 

“Nobody. Idle curiosity, big guy. That’s all.” He stands, and walks back to the camp. Sees Ignis and Noctis peeking out through the tent, the utterly shocked look on Noctis’ face, the confusion lining Ignis brows, and attempts a smile. It feels rock-solid, too heavy to keep up after a mere second. “Going to bed. Night guys.”

 

“Wha--” He shoves Noctis and Ignis outside unceremoniously, wraps himself in his roll, and turns his back to the door. His jacket is heavy on him, hot, but it’s worth it. 

 

He will die without these flowers ever seeing the sun again. 

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  
  


He becomes distant.

 

He knows the others are worried - Gladio especially. He knows the Shield knows he’s made a misstep, but can’t see where and how to fix it, and it bothers him. He knows Ignis and Noctis are trying to wrap their heads around why, after offering Prompto the perfect chance to speak about his mark, he’d choose not to. 

 

And that’s fine. They don’t have to get it. Don’t have to understand the why or how or when of it. Prompto lets them worry, gives them fake smiles and tries to keep up the cheer during battles. But it’s far longer periods of quiet between the four of them, of Prompto trailing them like he did all throughout his life, of Noctis looking back with worry, or a few times, falling back beside him, only for Prompto to fall even further back, the silent  _ leave me alone  _ enough to hurt his friend.

 

Prompto tries. But there was something in Gladio’s tone, something in the casual  _ depends who’s askin,  _ something in the words about marriages and love and--

 

He thinks he fell for a trap. The trap of being in love with the idea of love, of the luxury of having someone  _ there,  _ at his side, for the rest of his life. He fell for the trap, and got bitten for his troubles.

 

Gladiolus Amicitia isn’t on his level. He’s a Shield - his life is dedicated to the King they will one day serve. The flowers on Prompto’s body are a temporary proof-of-life, a showy sign that Gladiolus lived once, but he died for his King. 

 

They will both die for Noctis, Prompto knows. They all will. Even Ignis, who Noctis once whispered  _ I can’t live without him. I’d die from the heartbreak.  _ If given the choice between their lives and his, they will all choose theirs every time. 

 

That is the trap, he thinks. And the words  _ arranged marriages  _ and  _ Dad  _ finally tipped the scales, and reminded Prompto of why he’s here. It’s not to fall in love with Gladiolus Amicitia, or to get his best friend to fall in love with Ignis Scientia and confess. It’s to do a job. To protect the heir to the throne, to protect their future King. To walk with him always.

 

There’s no time for romance, in that.

 

So Prompto keeps his distance. He helps the others collect the weapons. He eats dinner at camp, and then goes to bed. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t banter back and forth like he used to. He closes himself off, and lets the distance eat away at his bond to Gladio, until one day--

 

When he goes to take a shower in the motel room, he sees it. Just the faintest edge, but it’s there.

 

The Gladiolus flowers have begun to wither.

 

And even as it hurts him in ways he can’t explain, tears at him in ways he doesn’t want to think about, he smiles.

 

Because Gladio is finally falling out of love with him.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


It takes them a year and two months, but at last they’ve collected all the Royal Arms, and are heading back to Insomnia. The mood in the car is bright, but also a little sedated, because with this, with all the arms collected, Noctis will be saying goodbye to the outside world until his death at the hands of the Wall. Until the Ring claims his life as it has done to so many before, and he passes it on to his heir. 

 

Which is another reason for the quiet mood. King Regis has always been a kind, progressive man, but there’s no escaping the reality that an heir will be needed. And Ignis, as far as anyone is aware, has never wanted children of his own. 

 

Which means no ‘Consort’ status. Which means going back to the days where Noctis and Ignis looked at each other across whole rooms of people, and wished they had the nerve to do something. 

 

Prompto would probably say something to lighten the mood, but the last six months have seen him more focused on himself than any of the team. He still fights for them, fights with Gladio and Ignis and keeps Noctis safe. But it’s all routine movements. Instead, he has eyes only for the flowers on his chest, which have slowly, slowly been withering and fading away. Most of the yellows and blues have dropped off now into sunken greys and blacks, their mark still bright on his chest, but no longer something to show off and be proud of. 

 

Only the piercing red still remains, untouched by the withering death of its siblings. The red, perhaps in stubbornness, has grown thick, viney thorns to wrap around him in places where the dead Gladioli once grew. Things a Gladiolus flower proper shouldn’t have, and yet exists as if to say  _ I’m not done with you yet.  _

 

He knows as soon as Gladio returns home, Noctis will likely be cast up to the mantle of King. Which means Gladio will have to learn the final lessons of his position, and take up the mantle of Shield, and there will truly be no time for thoughts on ‘Prompto and Gladio and what-might-have-been’. Hopefully it will kill the flowers truly then, just as Prompto is sure the last of his photographic name has been erased from Gladio’s hip by now. 

 

They arrive at the Citadel just shortly after dawn, and find King Regis and Clarus standing on the step, waiting. The King looks older than when they last saw him, more wrinkles on his brow, the last few black hairs on his head gone grey or white, but his smile is still warm, still welcoming. “Noctis,” he says, and extends his arms. Like the child he once was, Noctis goes to greet him, leaving the rest to unpack. 

 

Prompto doesn’t mind it. And when Clarus comes over to slap a hand on his son’s shoulder and speak to him in low tones, and both Gladio and Noctis are taken elsewhere, leaving only him and Ignis behind, he still doesn’t mind it. 

 

“You’re a damned fool, Prompto Argentum.”

 

At least, he didn’t. With a low sigh, Prompto hefts the last of their baggage up, and shrugs. Wordless, the same as anything he’s done with the other accusations Ignis has silently leveled at him with his eyes and expressions. He expects that to be the end of it, but Ignis steps directly into his path as he goes to climb the stairs, and Prompto knows this is going to be a different confrontation from the others.

 

“You are giving up the best damned thing in  _ both  _ of your lives,” Ignis hisses at him. “He  _ loves  _ you, you damned--”

 

“He doesn’t love me. He thinks he loves me. And I don’t love him.”

 

Ignis scoffs. “You two certainly didn’t seem so loveless a few months back, when he carried you bleeding out of those caves, or when you shot down a damned Zu to keep us all safe.”

 

“We’re a liability to each other, Ignis. Just like you are for Noctis.”

 

“...excuse you?”

 

Prompto looks at him. Actually looks at him. “Gladio will be the King’s Shield. Before anyone else, before his wife or husband, son or daughter, his life belongs to that King. Noctis has been targeted all his life - Regis was targeted too, from a young age. Clarus Amicitia married, but we know his wife divorced him after the birth of Iris. She hated him, hated the seat of power she married into. Said his loyalty to Regis was ‘unnatural’. If I...if I told Gladio the truth, and we got married, how long is it going to take before one of us has to bury the other one?”

 

Ignis is staring at him now. Not in anger, or in disbelief, but just… listening. 

 

“I don’t…” His throat closes up on him like the traitor it is, even though Prompto’s told himself a hundred thousand times  _ he doesn’t care.  _ “I don’t want to get into something that’s going to cause me pain. We exist for Noctis. That’s our job. And at the end of the day, we will all die for him. There’s no point getting wrapped up in romance when it’s just going to be our downfall. I won’t do that. Not to Gladio, not to Noctis, and not to myself. So  _ sorry,  _ but Gladio can find someone else. Someone who won’t hurt him when they divorce him later.”

 

“You fool,” Ignis whispers, and it sounds gutted. “You utter, blasted fool. You can’t actually believe that.”

 

Prompto laughs, but it rings hollow. “Whatever you say, Iggy.”

 

He closes the trunk of the car, and follows his future King inside.

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


True to Prompto’s expectations, a month following the collection of the final arm, Noctis is coronated as the King. Standing beside Gladio and Ignis on the dias, Prompto feels so damned proud of him - of them all, if he’s honest. They’ve come so far in so short a time, and made some damned good memories out of it. He knows Regis is proud, and Clarus and Cor. 

 

Prompto truly didn’t expect being allowed to stick around this far, but he has been. And there’s a blessing to that, that he’s been seen as worthy enough to do so. He’s the Lieutenant of the Crownsguard for now, working alongside Gladiolus, who will be acting as both Shield and Commander until further notice. A daunting position, but neither have them have come so far to settle for less. 

 

When at last it’s over, Prompto goes to escape. But Cor flags him down, and says, “A moment?” and Prompto can’t really say no to that. He catches Gladio watching him as he goes, expression unreadable, but ignores it. 

 

“I don’t like prying into personal affairs,” Cor says as they walk to his office. “But I need to know now if this is going to cause an issue between you and Gladio.”

 

“I’m not planning on doing anything about the marks, sir.”

 

“Marks?” Cor rounds on him. “So it isn’t just Gladio, then. You share it.”

 

“He’s fallen out of love, sir. It’ll be fine.”

 

“And you?”

 

“As I said, I’m not planning to pursue anything. I know we exist for Noctis.”

 

Cor stares at him for a long time. “There’s a very big difference,” he says at last, “Between existing for someone, and living for them. Tea?”

 

He sits and has tea, because he likes spending time with Cor, and it’s been a while since they’ve actually just sat and talked. He knows he should be upset, because Cor  _ is  _ prying, even if he says he doesn’t like to, but this is also Cor. Anything said inside these walls isn’t going to be passed around like the maids do when they gossip. 

 

“And for your information,” Cor offers as he slides a cup and saucer towards Prompto. “Gladiolus has not fallen out of love with you. Not in the slightest.”

 

It’s Prompto’s turn to stare. “But,” he starts, “The flowers are withering.”

 

Cor raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘out with the old, in with the new’? Has it changed at all? Gained new heads, new buds, new… expressions?”

 

_ The thorns,  _ Prompto thinks. “Thorns and vines.”

 

“A defense,” Cor says, and he’s… smiling. “A refusal to give you up easily. Tenacity. Good.”

 

“But…”

 

“Let me guess - it’s a liability, right?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“To who, exactly?”

 

“Everyone! Noctis… we can’t protect him if we’re too wrapped up in each other, and if one of us dies, it’ll hurt the other, and--”

 

“And,” Cor gently interrupts, “What about if none of that happens? What if it only makes you stronger?”

 

“It won’t.”

 

“You’re positive?”

 

“Almost dead certain.”

 

Cor chuckles into his tea. “And what if I told you that for the last thirty-five years, Clarus and I have been partners?”

 

Prompto stares at him. He can’t think of anything to say, because… that’s--

 

Cor senses his disbelief, or maybe he just wants to reassure Prompto that he’s not dreaming. He pulls his shirt up, and--

 

_ Epargyreus Clarus. _ A great butterfly, spread alongside his ribs, right below the armpit. 

 

“Thirty-five years ago, I swore the same thing you did,” Cor says quietly. “I saw what might happen if we became a couple. So I promised myself I wouldn’t, for Regis’ sake. To keep him safe from harm, to prevent heartbreak, I wouldn’t accept this mark. I thought that, if I gave it enough time, stayed gone long enough, let Clarus see all the beautiful women running around, he’d fall out of love with me, and in love with one of them. And in a way, he did.”

 

“Rosemary.”

 

“Rosemary. He married her just after I found you in Niflheim. I came home, and he’d gone and gotten married. And I thought ‘finally, took him long enough’. But he wasn’t happy. He made every excuse to come see me when I came back, to be the first to greet me when I returned from long missions. And eventually, I realized he wasn’t going away, marriage, wife and children, or no.” He pulls his shirt back down, and Prompto finds his own hand tracing right below his collarbone, to the crimson flower that refuses to die. 

 

“He never touched me, but Rosemary saw me, and knew. She wasn’t a fool. She’d loved Clarus, but she’d also known her love was not the romance story book everyone dreams of getting. So when Iris was born, she dusted her hands of the matter - she gave Clarus ten years of her life, an heir and a spare, and then she left. And Clarus never stopped what he was doing. He just picked up, and kept coming back. Eventually, I stopped running.”

 

“Is that what I’m supposed to do then?” Prompto asks, and even to his own ears, he sounds small. “Just… stop running?”

 

“No. Because it’s not a matter of running. It’s a matter of being comfortable enough to accept someone else in your space. That’s what the problem is. Not that you or Gladio might bury the other when you marry, or that you’re supposed to be serving Noctis but you live in the same space and exist in the same circles. Both Clarus and I spent as much time screwing around with Regis as we did guarding him. There can be a time for both. But not until you feel comfortable enough to let Gladiolus in to your space.”

 

“With all due respect sir, it can’t… be that simple.”

 

“I assure you, it can be. And it is.”

 

_ Can it really be?  _ He thinks back to that day on the haven, the words Gladio had spoken. Had it really been less about Noctis, and more about comfort, even then? How many times had he put off speaking to Gladio about anything concerning the mark, promising himself he’d do it as soon as he felt comfortable enough?

 

And then once Ignis and Noctis had figured it out, they’d started nudging him more and more, and it had felt like a deadline. Hanging above his head, a proverbial guillotine. Except when he’d tried to push himself on their deadline, everything in him had refused. And that’s when the distance had started.

 

A lack of comfort. A desire to do things on his own time, in his own way. A need to  _ wait,  _ because the time wasn’t yet right.

 

But he’d tried to ignore that. To push past. And now Cor tells him  _ it is that simple  _ and Prompto--

 

Prompto thinks maybe Cor is right. Thirty-five years is no small amount to be quietly bound to someone else. And Prompto’s heard stories of the Marshal in his youth. Brash, wild, standoffish. A refusal to bend to authority easily without respect. Spent traveling with a man who would be a Shield, a man who was like Gladio in a way, who waited until Cor felt ready to let him in. 

 

And Gladio’s still here. He’s the Shield now, and Prompto’s still here, and the mark has only grown, not receded like Prompto expected. It’s making way for new growth. Vines and thorns. A refusal to go away or be forgotten easily.

 

Patience, he thinks. Gladio is being patient. Waiting for Prompto to tell him  _ when,  _ and staying back until then. 

 

“Gladio--”

 

“Couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong,” Cor interrupts. “Clarus told him what I told you, except from his end. I imagine it went something to the tune of ‘be patient, he’ll figure it out eventually.’ Bastard.”

 

There’s fondness in that word. Genuine fondness. That single word, more than anything else he’s been told, is what convinces him he isn’t being lied to.

 

“You’re not just telling me this because Ignis told you what was going on, and is tired of it?”

 

“No. Which, even if he is tired of it, this is between you and Gladio. He and Noctis are too busy making wedding plans for him to be worrying about you right now.”

 

“Wedding plans?”

 

“He didn’t tell you? Noctis told Regis he wouldn’t marry anyone else, and Regis goes, ‘Well it’s about time’.”

 

“But Ignis doesn’t want kids.”

 

“And the Council had their little bitch-fest about it, I assure you. But the monarchy is in Noctis’ hands now, which means if he wants to marry a man who doesn’t want children and end the Caelum line with him, that’s acceptable.”

 

Prompto’s starting to feel a little like he’s in a dream. He takes a sip of his tea, and then pinches himself sharply. He’s still in the same situation he was, sitting here, drinking tea with Cor, who’s looking far too amused for a man fixing to retire. 

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” Prompto asks, because he’s in a new area of his life, with the former map he was going to use nowhere in sight.

 

Cor smiles. “Now,” he says, “You live.”

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


_ Thirty five years,  _ Cor Leonis said. From when he was young, traveling with Clarus and Regis and Weskham and Cid on the road, all the way to the day he stood beside Clarus with Regis on the dias as the man’s protectors. Until the day Clarus stopped having a wife, but kept circling Cor like his own version of the sun. 

 

It hasn’t taken Prompto quite that long - thirty two, to his mentor’s thirty five. It’s one day, during one of the rare vacations they have as a team, him and Ignis and Noctis and Gladio, when Prompto peers through his viewfinder and sees Gladio helping little Stella and Aurora (Luna and Nyx’s grandchildren, because babysitting duty between besties is a must) pick flowers, and something in his stomach  _ flip-flops  _ over itself, his palms going clammy, and he thinks  _ now.  _

 

He takes the shot, and Ignis calls for lunch, and Stella and Aurora run to get fed, Noctis teasing his husband about getting the King’s share while Ignis swats his hands away from the sweets and threatens to make him sleep by himself even as he smiles. 

 

Prompto, feeling far more comfortable doing this than he was ten years ago. Gladio’s made no move to get out of the flowers, instead finding a spot and seating himself, face tilted back to enjoy the sun. He cracks an eye open when Prompto slides down to join him, hums a greeting, but does nothing besides that. 

 

Noctis and Ignis are still occupied with Stella and Aurora, and Prompto feels like his heart is racing, but he’s  _ ready  _ now. 

 

“So hey, I’m sorry.”

 

Gladio opens an eye. “What’d you do this time?”

 

Prompto snorts. “Okay,  _ rude.  _ I’ve been on my best behavior this time!”

 

“Sure. Tell it to someone who didn’t see you set boiling water on fire.”

 

“One time! And that was back when Noctis was living out of his apartment!”

 

“ _ Boiling water,  _ Chocobo.”

 

“Hey, we’re not all Ignis, alright?”

 

That gets him a rumble of laughter, and the eye closes again, and it feels… good. Nice. Warm. 

 

_ Fuck.  _ He’s so in love with this bastard it isn’t even funny. “But actually, I was talking about that time with the haven. When I asked about the soul marks. I know… I got weird, after that. So I’m sorry for making you worry over nothing. I was being stupid.”

 

Gladio leans over and nudges him with a shoulder, just a brush. “Hey, don’t. I wasn’t much better at that time. We were all stupid, stumbling around trying to figure shit out. We lived though, didn’t we?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“S’alright then. But consider your apology appreciated all the same.”

 

Gladio tucks his arms behind him and falls back into the flowers, closing his eyes. He looks ready to nap. But Prompto’s not quite done with him, not yet.

 

“Hey. How big has it gotten?”

 

“...Covers both hips now. Wraps around the back.”

 

Prompto flushes. “Sorry.”

 

“Didn’t say it was bad, Chocobo.” Gladio’s watching him now, and it feels soothing, having that gaze on him. “How big has yours gotten?”

 

Prompto grins. “See for yourself.” And he tugs his shirt off before he loses the nerve.

 

The little catch in Gladio’s breathing is exhilarating enough to curl his toes in his shoes. It somehow makes him feel bold enough to do it. Especially when Gladio sits up, and skims the entire picture - which has come to wrap around him, front and back like armor over the last few years - first with his eyes, and then, gingerly with his fingers.

 

“Fuck,” Gladio breathes, and Prompto obligingly scoots over so he can see the back too. “Really did a number on you, didn’t I?” He settles his palm against Prompto’s back, sweeping it over the expanse of crimson and blue and gold, the vines that have only multiplied, twining around his legs. It’s practically a full-body tattoo at this point. 

 

“Yeah. It got pretty crazy there for a while,” Prompto admits. “But it’s never stopped being this colorful.” Maybe one day he’ll ask about the greys and blacks, before they came back even more vivid than before. But not now, when it feels so nice just to have it like this. “Guess you’ll just have to take responsibility.”

 

And Gladio’s hand still on his shoulder. He’s blocking Ignis and Noctis from seeing, not that the two are paying very much attention. Or if they are, they’re being discreet about it, like good boys this time. 

 

“Yeah?” Gladio asks, husky. “Y’gonna let me?”

 

Prompto peers at him over a shoulder. “Hmm. I don’t see why not. You started this mess, so shouldn’t you finish it? Or do Amicitia men not follow that creed?”

 

He’s teasing, and the slow, blinding smile on Gladio’s face means he gets that. When he leans forward, Prompto meets him halfway. The kiss is chaste, but it promises everything Prompto’s ever dreamed of finding in a partner. Safety. Love. Understanding. A reason to live. 

 

“I’ll take good care of you, Prom. Promise.” He kisses his forehead and nose, and then finds his way to Prompto’s lips again. 

 

“Sorry for making you wait,” Prompto gets out when they part for air again. Gladio rests their foreheads together, and Prompto doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his life. This content.

 

Fuck, he’s looking  _ forward  _ to the rest of his life, now. 

 

“Hey, you’re here now,” Gladio reassures. “S’far as I’m concerned, that’s good enough for me.”

 

_ “SONNAVA BITCH!” _

 

Prompto and Gladio both pull back and look to find Noctis on his feet, glaring at them, furious. “YOU TWO,” he roars, jabbing his finger at them in accusation, and Ignis is clutching his sides, laughing in the background. “YOU MADE ME WAIT THIRTY YEARS, AND YOU WAIT UNTIL MY BACK IS TURNED! NO HONOR, NO FINESSE, DISGRACE OF MY ANCESTORS--”

 

Prompto starts laughing after that, tears blinding him as his best friend rants and raves about  _ sneaking around like a pair of serpents, spend twenty years making kissy faces at each other, pining, worst slowburn ever, my god-- _

 

“Hush, love,” Ignis eventually comes over to wrap arms around his sulking husband, placing a kiss on his temple. “At least they’re here now. Although I  _ do  _ expect invitations to the wedding, gentlemen.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Prompto agrees, grinning up from where he’s wrapped around Gladio like a vine.  _ His Gladiolus, now.  _ “Whatever you say, Specs.”


End file.
